Broken Pictures
by o-WinterQueen-o
Summary: How terrible it is to be nostalgic. (V: And the Burning Sun Fell to the Frigid Blade)


**Hey, y'all. Kari here. I haven't posted anything here in a while, so have 2K words worth of my sad angst betrayal verse bullshit. This is set sometime after Dreams and Pictures. I have another piece planned for this verse that I'll be posting soon that's a little more... hopeful I suppose, so keep an eye out for that. For now, let's watch Ichigo suffer a little more. As always, this piece is dedicated to making Ash cry.**

 **BTW, be sure to check Ash's work out over on PaleAutumn, she's a bean and her writing is so pretty. Anyways, on with the suffering**

* * *

The teen's eyes glazed over as he stared at the image upon his phone screen. Seeing it but not seeing it. Not really. Even as his traced the curve of his ex boyfriend's cheek in the photo, he wasn't really focused on the image. He was lost in the memory. That day, they'd gone to the park…

Crisp spring winds danced through the tree branches and ruffled their hair as the two of them walked, hand in hand with each other. The day was bright and warm even with the cool breezes, so Ichigo had suggested they spend it outside. Shiro had agreed with ease, so long as he still got to leech off the Shinigami's warmth, he didn't mind it. Humans couldn't see him anyways.

They sat at the base of a tree in the park. Ichigo with his back propped against the trunk, and Ogihci sitting between his legs, lounging against the teen's chest. Sunlight filtered down between the branches to warm them in patches and wind ruffled the pages of Ichigo's book almost fondly. It was nice.

Just the two of them, even in public, enjoying the sun in a soft haze of euphoria as Ichigo read aloud from his book. Shiro said something about liking the sound of Ichigo's voice when he read… The teen had scoffed and turned his head in embarrassment, but his heart had glowed with the praise. When he began reading once more, it was with a light flush on his cheeks.

He remembered the way Shiro had started up at him and pressed his chilled fingers to his face with a grin, saying that he liked how Ichigo blushed too. The hollow had only made him blush more like that… which was probably his intention… shortly after, his boyfriend had sat up to press their cheeks together and pepper kisses across the teen's face.

He really was so sweet back then…

A little after that, Ichigo had snapped pictures of them together. A couple pictures of Shiro giving him kisses, some of him returning those kisses… some more of them just smiling together… It was all perfectly sweet… Looking back on it, all of it seemed like a dream… Like some cliche fantasy happily ever after-the kind that never really happened in real life… Yet he'd believed it all like an utter fool, and paid the price.

Sniffling, Ichigo tore his eyes away from the pictures of that day to wipe the tears from his eyes. He hadn't realized he'd been crying… though… then again, he never did when he was like this. When he was like this, he wasn't really aware of anything except the picture. Except the memories he drowned himself in.

Having regained some sense of himself once more, he realized he was shivering now as the chilled breeze blew in through his window, dancing over his skin like a caress from his former boyfriend. It was soft and feather light as if it barely held any substance, and then without warning, it became decidedly more firm. As if the air brushing over his arm suddenly gained weight, sliding over it, lowering to his waist and wrapping snuggly around it like an arm.

No.

Not like an arm. It was an arm.

Weight settled behind him on the bed, the air behind his back growing firm as it too gained substance, manifesting into a torso. A brush of a nose across his bare shoulder, morphing into a cheek resting upon it, soft and sweet. Familiar.

He had a choice.

Here and now he had a choice to make.

He could tense and freeze and 'wake up' so to speak. Return to reality and be logical. Be sane. Be afraid as he should be. Or he could remain like this. Remain in this dreamlike state of nostalgia with this disregard of his own well being. Remain relaxed and live as if he was still locked in the past. As if Shiro never showed his true colors.

 _What_ real _choice did he have?_

A breath was drawn in and muscles that had tensed so minutely upon feeling the other's chilled presence settle beside him relaxed. What point was there in being afraid? He would be hurt in the end regardless, so what was the harm in trying to remain like this? In remaining in this state of half consciousness where reality was relative?

A breath was released.

He was safe.

He was here with his boyfriend.

Everything was fine.

Oh Shirosaki could have never known what a state he was in at the moment, of how willing he was to go along with whatever the hollow did. How pliant he was at times like this, else he would have sought out this moment much sooner.

As of now, it was simply his lucky day.

The hollow curled around him in such a familiar manner, making believe it was real was effortless.

Phone still clutched in hand, he swiped through to the next photo. It was of Shiro, reading Hamlet aloud to Ichigo. He'd looked beautiful, lounging at Ichigo's desk, elbow braced against the desk with his head propped up against the back of his hand as he flipped through the pages. He was wearing the sweater and sweatpants Ichigo had bought him for Christmas.

Right. Ichigo remembered, he was sick when he took that photo.

Shiro was wearing that to stay warm while he read to Ichigo so Ichigo would rest. It was sweet…

The memory made his heart ache with longing.

"Tch, I forgot ya used ta take dumb pictures like that all the time." Shirosaki's voice scoffed in his ear.

Shudders ran down his spine at the low words hissing through the air… His heart ached at the jab, but he otherwise did not respond. What else could he do?

"What else do you have, hm _Ichi_?~" The hollow's arm slithered up from around his waist curve behind his own that held the phone. Pale thumb slid over his to swipe across the screen and reveal the next picture.

Another selfie of them together, him sprawled out on the floor and propped up on an elbow with a book in front of him and Shiro laying on top of him, head hooked over Ichigo's shoulder in much the same manner as they sat now. The next was a selfie Shiro had taken while messing with his phone, the camera positioned beneath his chin so the other's features were distorted with the odd angle. Even with the distortion though, Ichigo could not help but find his former boyfriend's confused expression in the picture to be adorable.

"You still keep all of these?" Shiro's arm retreated from its place curled around his to reach up so his thumb could brush across his cheek. Finding moisture there he let out a chuckle. "You really are an insufferable idiot you know that Ichi?"

His words were cruel, yet were spoken almost as if they were an endearment. 'Like I would ever feel _endeared_ towards _you_ ' he could hear the hollow's voice echo at the back of his head, for he knew that's what his former boyfriend would say should the thought ever be voiced aloud.

Yet still he remained, relaxed in the embrace as if nothing was wrong.

If he just ignored it all, he could just keep pretending that it was all alright. That he wasn't hurt. That he was safe. As it was, his pain meds were keeping the physical pain from his half-healed injuries low enough that he could forget about them in favor of his nostalgia. It wasn't like using his pictures and memories was much different. One drug for the physical pain, another for the mental pain.

What did it matter?

Antidepressants, sleeping meds, pain pills, anti anxieties, nightmare pills, more pain meds. On and on the list of pills and supplements he had to take to feel like a real person again —to stay sane —what was one more?

What did he do to deserve it that his boyfriend, the one he loved so absolutely and completely, that he trusted beyond all others hated him so much? That he was so willing to scorn everything he did and put him through such torture. Why was he forced to endure pain upon pain, torment upon torment when all he wanted was to be happy.

Nails dug into his skin, dragging across it with ease, raising red welts in their path and Ichigo accepted it without protest. He did not care. He could not bring himself to mind as Shiro carved welts and scratches over his body. Whatever Shiro did, he probably deserved it in the end anyways.

The hollow swiped to another photo as his nails drew blood and Ichigo whimpered. The next was his favorite picture of the two of them. Chad had taken it at Ichigo's request. Just them together, Shiro hugging him with Ichigo's head tucked beneath his chin. Shiro was grinning, Ichigo was blushing. They looked happy. Ichigo was happy… He didn't know what Shiro had felt then… but if he had to guess… probably annoyance if the harsh scrape if his nails was any indication. The realization stabbed him in the heart just as his stabbed through his skin.

Tears rolled down his face silently as he trembled in the hollow's grip. It hurt it hurt it hurt… so much…

"Ugh, this one... don't you remember how your friends looked at us that day?" Shiro taunted him. "The Quincy refused to take the photo for you. Kept telling you that ya shouldn't trust me. Guess he was right, hm?"

Ichigo sniffled quietly, but didn't otherwise respond. A hand found its way to his neck and squeezed, making him gag.

"What was that, _babe_?"

"Y-Yeah…" his voice was tight with pain.

Shiro laughed cruelly at his miserable state, squeezing this neck even tighter, "That's what I thought."

Ichigo whimpered. It was getting harder to pretend, yet he still had no will to struggle nor fight back. He just accepted it. Too tired to fight or resist, he just laid in Shirosaki's grasp, struggling for breath. The sooner Shiro got bored of this the sooner he would leave and tonight's torment would be over anyways.

"Tch, you just get more and more pathetic every time." Shirosaki scoffed. He let go of Ichigo's neck and stretched with a bored yawn. Casually taking the phone from Ichigo, he crushed without a care, letting the pieces fall to the floor. "Whoops."

The teen stared at the remnants of his phone blankly, as if he couldn't believe what had just transpired. Shiro sneered at him as he sat up, turning Ichigo's head to face him. His grip was hard and painful. Ichigo knew there would be bruises in place of Shiro's hand. "See you later, _Ichi_."

With that, the hollow departed through his window into the night once more, leaving Ichigo alone once more. The teen curled further in on himself, pulling his blankets over his head as if that could hide him from the world. As if the flimsy blanket would be able to shield him from the word so know one would be able to see him break down.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review!


End file.
